Prologue-In-Works
by T.L. Eldi
Summary: The whispers of a rebellion have sprung up in The Kingdom of Behlamorr after three hundred years. Bearstoothe gathers his friends in secrecy at Ol’ Man Lyncol’s Shop to discuss their next steps as war can no longer be averted. Her Magnificence will surely reach across the river border and strike her peaceful neighbors in blame and rage should she face a revolt.


Ol' Man Lyncol peered into the downpour through his shop's rounded windows and could just make out the hooded silhouettes of his dearest friends. _Though he dare not call to them, for that would certainly mean an untimely end for all. Her Magnificence ordered the Royal Dignitary in charge of Selvage to increase patrols upon the whispers of a rebellion reaching her ear._

He had no intention to meet the Queen anytime soon so Ol' Man Lyncol pretended to pay attention to the few customers in his fabric and antique shop. _Not that there was any need to. Everything was 'On Grid' now. A Royal Citizen's Lifeline would know their exact whereabouts and belongings at all times. Lyncol despised his own and never turned it on until another Royal Decree mandated the carrying and activation of Lifelines indefinitely._

_It was time to lock up._ With a quick slap on the button underneath his counter, the lights shut off and the doors locked. _This was their sign. All seven knew to be in their proper places as the sun fell and Ol' Man Lyncol's Shop went dark._

At last, the final streaks of red and orange surrendered to the horizon and faded into the earth. Lyncol recognized his chance and pushed down on a low lever under the counter with his boot, tapped the floor twice, and then kicked the lever back into its rightful place. The floor below his feet began to hiss and fold underneath itself which revealed a ladder that dropped into a soft blue glow. The Ol' Man fastened his black cloak as he descended gingerly in his old age.

His friends had seated themselves around the elongated oak table before Ol' Man Lyncol had made it down the final rung. The company was silent- their black hoods forced the water to slide right off and onto the tabletop, louder than the storm above it seemed in the silence underground. Ol' Man Lyncol smiled when he noticed his handiwork working so handily. _He had sewn these cloaks after years of attempting to create a true weatherproof cloak._

Bearstoothe rose to break the silence and slid back his hood to reveal silvered braids that lay around a scarred and grizzled face. The braids wrapped around his broad shoulders and disappeared into his likewise braided silver beard. His massive frame partially blocked out the blue hue that radiated from the walls so he hunched over his chair and spoke, 'It is good to see you all again, but I fear we have no time for niceties on this night. Our attempts at preventing the escalations to war seemed to have been for naught. Now we must brace for what can no longer be held at bay. This land hasn't tasted blood in three-hundred years and it seems thirstier than ever. There are even some rather disturbing reports from the southwest that the Forlorn have begun to dare the clean air. I pray we do not see the day they no longer fear it.' Bearstoothe said in disgust. He nodded towards the seated cloak next to him, 'Daryion, what tidings of the Kingdom of Behlamorr?' he asked. The boy stood and removed his hood. His darker skin tone and clean-shaven face made his shorter silver braids shine in the low light.

_Ol' Man Lyncol had only met Daryion once before; Bearstoothe had brought him to Selvage to meet the Ol' Man and the two immediately became friends despite their age gap. They bonded over their love of crafting and Daryion had even whittled him a bearsbreath flower. That was before he had even the slightest hopes of being a truly free man, but now that hope slowly burned inside of him like an ember desperately yearning to ignite itself._

Daryion's voice broke Ol' Man Lyncol out of his thoughts, 'The people of Hillshade are ready to revolt. Though, those in Foothold fear they lie too close to the Queen's Word and say they will be slaughtered by her forces. Farradas has assured me that Arnahl's Stronghold will stand with us. 'Daryion faced Bearstoothe, 'We have no weapons this side of the water, as you know. But, we do have greater numbers.'

Bearstoothe smiled at Daryion while he retrieved a crumpled and crinkly map from his satchel and unraveled it, 'Oh, wait that's the wrong one,' He chuckled and retrieved a second map that seemed to be in a much better condition. Bearstoothe unfolded it as he lay it on the table. 'If we take the great river, my lad, we may stand a chance.'

'Forgive me, my friend, but are you going to pick up your axe and fight with us?' _It was Dahjio, captain of the Icebound Rangers. _He stood and pushed back his hood. Dahjio was slender and tall for a man but still nearly two feet shorter than Bearstoothe. His head was bald but his face made up for it with a wild black beard set on his pale, solemn face. 'I do not think you plan on breaking your pathetic, pacification of an oath. No, you will send others in your stead. The Icebound will not do it, my friend, unless you will bleed with us. EVERY hood hangs' Dahjio sat back in his seat across from Bearstoothe and dawned his hood. _Every hood hangs. The Icebound Rangers' rallying cry of old._

Ol' man Lyncol had heard enough talk. He adjusted his belt under the overhang of his round belly and spoke to the company, 'Men, all my life I've lived in Selvage, on the edge of your free lands. I swear I could almost taste it when I would stand out on the water-wall gazing over the fields just across the way. My grandparents would tell me stories as we stood there; stories of when Selvage was still an independent city and free from all those who seek to seize it. Those stories did not die with them nor my parents. There are thousands like me ready to finally be free of those damn royals a thousand miles away!' He slammed his fist on the table before taking a slow calming breath, 'You do not have to spill blood yourself, Bearstoothe, just help us to spill enough of theirs so they leave us be. We can only do so much without weapons, and even if every person joined us the Queen would still have the AIS bots and her legions of Dociless.'

'Ah, and look how dangerous we are here while all still unarmed. It is our ideas they fear most.' Bearstoothe said. He furrowed his brow and placed a hand on the table as he studied his map more closely. 'If we manage to take the great river in its entirety then we could get weapons and men across without risk. As well as food and supplies.' He pointed just north of Selvage to Riverforge, then motioned to the far west 'I will seek help from the animals near the Maroon Mountains and Kompo will travel to Iilbav and gather his horsemen. Bearstoothe brought his finger over to the eastern sea-line, 'Daryion, you must spread this word in Tarqfire like a flame in the brush. We will be outnumbered until the people of the Kingdom of Behlamorr take to the cause and then we shall be a blaze untamable upon the royals. However, I must stress patience. If the Queen strikes us first it will help to rally the people. Dark days are indeed at our door but if we can cling to hope - well, that's enough for an Old Bear.'


End file.
